


The Waking Lights: Be Careful Making Wishes In The Dark

by sunsetmog



Series: The Waking Lights [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:21:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24458905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunsetmog/pseuds/sunsetmog
Summary: Hand holding and protestations of flatmate affection aside, their relationship remains, as always, mostly on the friendship side of things.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Series: The Waking Lights [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1766590
Comments: 24
Kudos: 252





	The Waking Lights: Be Careful Making Wishes In The Dark

**Author's Note:**

> The continuing adventures of Draco Malfoy: Instagram Star, and Harry Potts, assistant-slash-flatmate.

"Hullo, old thing," Draco says, coming in from his bedroom. "Is there any ginger beer going?"

"Hullo," Harry says, going inexplicably pink. "And yes, in the kitchen."

Hermione raises an eyebrow. Harry focuses almost entirely on watering his plants. He has the window box to water, and the plants on the shelves by the window. 

"Old thing?" Hermione mouths at him, after Harry's failed to react in any way other than a general sense of pinkness around the gills. "Ginger beer? And what's with the, you know?"

The _you know_ , Harry assumes, is Draco's sweater vest. And perhaps the pipe. It might be the pipe. 

"Draco's only watching really old films this month," Harry says, attempting not to meet Hermione's eye. "And associated literature."

"Uh-huh," she says. 

"I'm indulging myself in a range of classic mid-century culture," Draco says, coming back out with a glass of chilled ginger beer and his un-lit pipe, and sweeping past them both on his way back to his bedroom. He's wearing a wide-legged pinstripe trouser, a pale shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and a sweater vest. They're all pristine. Creases disappear in sheer horror when they see Draco coming. 

Harry is, as always, jealous, although not of Draco's bare feet, which just make him feel cold. 

"I think we should get a dog," Draco says, on his way out of the living room.

"Stop reading the Famous Five," Harry calls after him. "We've had enough adventures for one lifetime."

"I've finished them, and anyway, I'm not sure our residual trauma allows them to be categorised as 'adventures'," Draco says, although by this time he's back in his bedroom and the door's mostly closed. "And I think a Timmy of our own might be better protection than any crup, if these books are anything to go by. Although I always did want a crup, growing up. For company. We could get a crup, though."

"Is this for his Instagram?" Hermione asks. "You're not putting a crup on the internet, Draco. Stop pretending the Statute of Secrecy doesn't exist."

"I'll start to worry when there's even the slightest possibility of someone in the Ministry understanding Instagram Stories," Draco says. "Until then, I don't think we've got anything to worry about. They're still bemused by the existence of the rubber duck. There's no way any of them is going to get TikTok."

" _You're_ bemused by the existence of the rubber duck," Harry says. "You threw that one I brought home out of the window."

"It was looking at me," Draco says. 

"I liked that duck," Harry says. "I'd named it. You made a TikTok about its demise."

"It was evil," Draco says. "How come we never had midnight feasts at school? They're frying sausages in this one."

"Put the boarding school stories down, Draco," Harry says. His exasperation is mostly faked. He's continually charmed by Draco. It's terrible. "Anyway, the light's shifting. If you want me to take any pictures it had better be soon."

Draco emerges, chin tilted towards the light, from the depths of his bedroom. "My audience awaits," he says. "I'm thinking… 1950s, at home with a matinee idol, a casual laugh to the camera like this—" he laughs. "My easy laugh says one thing, my eyes say another. Just a hint of my inner agonies. Recreate one of those magazines spreads I was showing you. At home with Draco Malfoy. You know."

"All right," Harry says equably, despite not knowing. 

"Oh my god," Hermione says, as if neither of them can hear her. "Why are you like this."

"I'm an Instagram star, Granger," Draco says. "And Potts here is my assistant-slash-flatmate. And now i have to be photographed being bathed by the early evening sunlight," Draco says, draping himself on the windowsill, ginger beer still in hand.

It does something queer to Harry's insides. He pops the feeling to one side, like always. Hand holding and protestations of flatmate affection aside, their relationship remains, as always, mostly on the friendship side of things. Draco shares his bed most nights, but that is, unfortunately, genuinely a case of him needing his photos edited and having actual cold feet because of his refusal to ever wear socks. 

"One day, someone at the ministry is going to get a mobile phone," Hermione says, "and then you'll be grateful for all my undercover work on Tumblr. Honestly, I cannot believe that in my actual adult life I've had to create a whole second personality, and a Tumblr account, just so I can literally go around debunking all those people taking your videos apart and saying you're a magician. Last week I had someone send me three anonymous asks telling me they're going to have me banned from the Magic Circle. I'm not even _in_ the Magic Circle."

"You like Tumblr," Draco says, unbuttoning his shirt a little and running his fingers through his hair. Harry is suddenly breathless, not that Draco seems to notice. "Where else would you get to reblog all those She-Ra gifs?"

"That is not the point," Hermione says, a trifle sanctimoniously. "It would be nice to reblog all those She-Ra gifs without the added hassle of having to constantly put myself in the line of fire of your fucking fans."

Draco tilts his chin up in her general direction. His cheekbones, combined with the sunlight and his general matinee idol ambience, combine to make something magical. It really is the worst. 

"Ugh," she says. "Stop being hot. It's awful. You're awful."

Draco, without taking his eyes off her, undoes another button. Harry floats the idea of having some kind of conniption. 

"Take my picture, Potts," Draco says, and Harry, for want of something better to do with his life, does. 

~*~

"What is happening," Ron says, almost without inflection. "What is happening, and why is it happening to me."

"We're taking the roomba for a walk," Draco says, as if it wasn't obvious to everyone that their roomba was nestled gently in a little box attached to a skateboard, which was in turn, attached to a string that Draco was holding. "We're going to the park. Even monsters deserve sunlight."

Ron looks, with more than a little consternation, in the general direction of the roomba. "How much of a monster is it?"

"Its not a monster," Harry says. "Draco's just scared of it."

"I am not," Draco says. "I'm taking it for a walk, aren't I? So it can feel the wind in its vents."

Ron looks more than a little confused. Hermione looks like she's reconsidering all of her life choices, up to and including this one. 

"We're going to have ice cream," Harry says. "If that helps."

Ron brightens up. Draco looks into the middle distance, suitably moody, which means he's excited for a 99. Hermione rolls her eyes. 

There's a pause, as Draco records their exit for posterity, and then they leave, as one, for the park. 

~*~

"So," Pansy says. "You and Draco."

"There is no me and Draco," Harry says, which is something that could be approximately 36% true, on a bad day. He's watering the plants, in preparation for taking some pictures of Draco in his new underwear range. Pansy's just here because she - apparently - likes the aesthetic even if Draco doesn't do it for her. She's dating a banker who works 60 hour weeks, is heading for retirement, and already has a divorce and three children behind him; she can't think much of him but he has a nice bank account and, according to Draco, Pansy has already planned what she's going to do with her divorce settlement once they're finally married and she can do the decent thing and move on. If she can do it quickly enough, the exchange rate at Gringotts is set to make her a mint. 

Harry is somewhat in awe of Pansy Parkinson and her planning skills. 

"Hmmm," Pansy says. "Who knew that Draco Malfoy could make such a good muggle?"

"I heard that," Draco says, throwing open his bedroom door. He's resplendent in a silk, floral dressing gown. It's new; a gift from some company or other that Harry had to sign for that morning. "And I'm not a muggle, I'm just pretending to be one. For the Instagram fame. And the presents."

"Hmmm," Harry says, since, underneath the moody glances into the middle distance and the obsession with lighting angles, Draco is the happiest he's ever been in his whole entire life. Harry's not entirely sure why he's the only one that can see it, although he supposes that no one else is here late at night when Draco curls into Harry's side with his phone in hand as he makes plans for upcoming content. It's almost like removing themselves from being force fed the impact of their own childhood trauma every day has been good for them emotionally; who knew. 

"I need to move more of my things into your room, Harry," Draco says. "They're cluttering up the background to my photos."

Pansy raises an eyebrow in Harry's general direction. Harry busies himself misting the leaves of his rubber plant. He's not sure if it needs misting, but it keeps him busy. 

"Okay," he says, rather than make eye contact with either Pansy or Draco. 

"Great," Draco says, and then throws his phone at Harry, who catches it one-handed, without much thought. Draco's undoing his robe. "Will you take some pictures of this?"

"Uh-huh," Harry says, as Draco's dressing gown falls open and Harry has to do his level best not to swallow his tongue. It's really not fair that Draco's launched his own range of underwear, it's like he's done it on purpose just to mess with Harry's head. 

From the sofa, Pansy makes some kind of strangled _nrghhh_ noise. Harry understands. He feels it too. 

Draco poses, and Harry takes a picture - Draco, moody and looking at the kitchen door, all pale skin and cheekbones. Pansy rests her chin on her hands and leans over the back of the sofa to watch. 

"We should charge entry fees," Draco say, tilting his chin up in Pansy's general direction. 

"I'd be on the guest list," she sniffs. "Hey, Harry, why don't we take some pictures of Draco reclining on his bed. That's the kind of thing underwear models do, isn't it?"

"I wouldn't know," Harry says, trying not to go pink. Draco seems relatively enthusiastic, not least because they have the extra lights set up in Draco's bedroom so he can film content and use the mirror. 

Pansy sticks her tongue out at him, then follows Draco into the bedroom. She inspects the view out of the bedroom window. "The sun must wake you up really early in here."

"I wouldn't know," Draco says, sprawling out across his pristine white sheets. "What's this angle like?"

Harry ignores Pansy's pointed eyebrow. "Good," he says. "It's good."

For a moment, Draco meets his eyes, then spreads his legs a little more. "Good," he says. "Try this one on for size, Potts."

The thing is, Harry reasons, angling the camera, is that he's the happiest he's ever been, too.

**Author's Note:**

> [Rebloggable Tumblr Post](https://magicalrocketships.tumblr.com/post/619028777632235520/the-waking-lights-the-meteoric-rise-of-draco).


End file.
